


Cops and Robbers

by savingprivatesimmons (black_twosugars), thesuperriley



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gang AU, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_twosugars/pseuds/savingprivatesimmons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesuperriley/pseuds/thesuperriley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an ex-crew member stumbles into the police office and snitches on the notorious killer Michael Jones, officers Ramsey, Pattillo and Haywood are on the case to put the killer behind bars. But Michael, Gavin and Ray have a completely different plan. The case is hot and the bodies have just gone cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was really fun to collaborate on this and you can probably expect to see more collaborations from Riley and I at some point. The major character death also includes me because writing this killed me (thanks a lot, Riley).  
> This fanfiction was inspired by 'Cops and Robbers' by The Hoosiers and I definitely recommend giving that song a listen. <3 Katrina
> 
> So I totally forced Katrina to write major character death. No regrets… See how our fanfiction relationship goes: I plan the fic (including gut-wrenchingly heart breaking moments) and I then force her to write them in vivid detail and I greatly enjoy the emotional torment it puts her through. I hope this fic emotionally torments you in a good way… I think. -Riley

Michael Jones.

Notorious mobster boss and gang leader.

Some had even gone as far to call him the OG of the assassin gangster business. He was basically the King when it came down to his work.

The feds had been after him for _years_.

But three cops had been working on this case harder and longer than anyone; Geoff Ramsey, Jack Pattillo, and Ryan Haywood. Geoff had been on the case for six years, while Jack and Ryan had been assisting him for four and three years respectively.

It was rainy Friday night and they had reached yet another dead end - something to do with the mysterious deaths of Lindsay Tuggey and Kerry Shawcross, but nothing more than basic records had turned up. The chief of police was one failure away from relocating them and Geoff was about to grab his coat and head home. He was going to re-read the shamefully small amount of files on Michael Jones over his weekend until his eyes bled and he was going to drown himself in coffee in the hopes that he could find _something_ in those small pieces of information.

Well, that had been his plan up until the front door to the police station burst open and a young man stumbled through, dripping rain water all over the floor. One look at his face immediately gave away his identity to Geoff.

This guy’s name was Simon Cole. Renowned for arson and armed robbery, he was also known to be Michael’s partner in crime.

Geoff rushed to Simon’s side but didn’t touch him, for the young gangster had bruises and cuts and other various injuries all over every visible patch of skin the eye could see. He didn’t want to risk injuring the man even more, so he stayed silent and allowed Simon to grab onto his arm.

The boy was able to mutter one sentence before collapsing in a bloody and wet heap on the once-pristine floor of the police station; “you give me immunity, you wipe my slate clean, you take me off the radar… and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear about Michael Jones.”

* * *

 

After slinging Simon’s arm around his neck, being watchful of the more visible injuries, Geoff called Ryan over and the two of them hauled the young man through the police station and into one of the more secluded interrogation rooms.

Once there, Ryan handcuffed the young criminal’s hands to the table in the typical fashion and they waited for him to awake.

Jack had brought the three of them coffee after seeing Geoff and Ryan bring the dripping wet kid through the station.

Luckily the kid was a light sleeper. Because not ten minutes after he passed out, he was rousing again. He coughed throatily a few times before shaking his head to rid his hair of some rainwater and to clear his vision of his dirty black hair. But when he heard the tell-tale rattle of handcuffs, he visibly slumped back down in the chair in resignation.

“We’re gonna take you up on your offer, don’t worry.” Geoff said, pulling out a chair to sit on the opposite side of the table to Simon. Meanwhile, Ryan leaned against a wall while Jack paced, too jittery to stay still for more than a few seconds.

“The fuck am I cuffed for then, eh?” Simon snarled, yanking on the handcuffs to make them rattled loudly.

“It’s standard procedure.” Ryan said with a smirk.

“Let’s cut the small-talk,” snapped Geoff, maintaining his usual cold and stoic expression as he stared Simon down. “Tell me everything about Michael Jones.”

“Jeez, I’m not like his keeper or anything.” Simon scoffed with a humourless laugh. “I don’t know _everything_ about the guy, but I can tell you what I know about him and where you could find him.”

“Go on.” Geoff prompted, taking the notepad and pen offered to him by Jack, and as Simon spoke, reeling off everything he knew about Michael, Geoff wrote it all down. And if his hand ached like a bitch by the end of it, he knew it was worth it.

From that fruitful interrogation, Geoff was made aware of numerous useful things about Michael.

As it turned out, the deaths of Lindsay Tuggey and Kerry Shawcross _had_ actually been linked to Michael Jones. Lindsay had been Michael’s fiance while Kerry had been Michael’s best friend and right-hand-man. They had been Michael’s crew and the three of them had been almost unstoppable.

 _‘Almost’_   was the key word there.

“If you want to get him, get him now.” Simon had said, a determined glare on his face. “He’s got two lives down and one life left.”

Only now did that make sense to Geoff.

Geoff thought angsty teenagers held grudges well until he met Simon. The guy had aspired to be like Michael, following in his footsteps and working his way up the criminal ladder. But Michael had claimed that he was getting too power-hungry, too reckless, too dangerous, too much of a liability. So Simon had been kicked out of the crew.

As a result of that, Simon had been enraged. He was furious that his idol had cast him aside without so much as a ‘have a nice day’. So he took an AK-47, broke into Michael’s base of operations where Lindsay and Kerry were staying, and he unloaded two clips - one into Kerry and one into Lindsay - while Michael was out buying ammo.

“As long as I’m safe, you could put a bullet in Michael Jones’ head.” Simon had assured, a devious toothy (and extremely dirty and in need of a desperate brush) grin on his face.

Most of the other claims Simon made would need further investigation, but Geoff wasn’t about to waste a single second dawdling.

The first thing he was going to do was head straight for Michael.

A day ago this would have been a useless attempt because no matter how hard they tried, Michael continued to stay under the police’s radar. He used fake names, had a new phone every other week, never stayed in one place for too long. In short, Michael Jones was an expert at not being caught.

It seemed as though the mobster boss had thought of every single potential outcome under the sun. But what he hadn’t counted on was one of his own essentially handing him over to the police.

After detaining Simon - they needed to do so to keep him with them, no one trusted him to stick around and they were likely to need him again - Jack, Geoff and Ryan had armed themselves with bulletproof vests and their gun holsters before piling into one of the station’s unmarked police cars.

The drive was silent, but it wasn’t like anything needed saying. The three men had waited years for this moment, no one wanted to break that peaceful silence.


	2. Chapter 2

There were a lot of things Michael Jones did; he did the laundry, he made sure to wear gloves when killing someone, he tipped waiters and waitresses, he killed people in the quickest way possible (unless he was purposefully torturing someone), he was generally a good citizen when he wasn’t busy being an exceptional criminal.

However, one of the few things Michael didn’t do was sleep. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if they’d heard the things Michael had done and seen the things he had. In fact, they wouldn’t be surprised if Michael had put a bullet in his own skull a long time ago.

But Michael wasn’t like other people. And for that, he was grateful. Because if he was like other people, he would have been asleep when a car parked itself half a block away, and he wouldn’t have been instantly alert when three men got out of the car and headed straight for Michael’s apartment building.

Grabbing his pistol and holding it casually in his right hand, Michael jogged round the flat and switched off every light apart from the one in the hallway. He then left one door deliberately open, knowing that curiosity would overwhelm these men which would inevitable lead them to their failure - and possible demise.

Michael hid behind the open door and waited, his breathing slow and calm and almost silent.

He heard the distinct sound of his front door being opened; the intruders were smart enough to pick locks then.

Then careful and soft footsteps - three different sets of them - told Michael that they had entered his apartment.

“Were you looking for me?” Michael couldn’t resist coating his voice in a deliciously dark tone. He smirked in the dark, knowing that if these men weren’t scared before, they’d be shitting themselves by now.

Some almost frantic shuffling was heard before the footsteps grew closer. But when they reached the open doorway, two of the men stopped just outside of the door while one tentatively walked in.

Michael’s smirk grew - that was what he had been waiting for.

“Well, you found me,” he confessed, stepping out from the shadows behind the door fast enough to swiftly raise his arm and press the barrel of the gun against the temple of the intruder’s head. Michael then turned to face the other two men and barked an order at them. “You two, drop your weapons and stand over there.” He pointed with his left arm at the wall opposite them.

Slowly, Michael led his hostage forwards a few steps, just so they could stand nearer the other two dipshits who dared to break into Michael’s house.

The two men shared terrified looks, obviously not having originally expected Michael to be prepared and awake at this time of night, before they complied and raised their hands in the air, palms facing out.

“Who told you?” Michael demanded, anger burning in the pit of his stomach. He was the smartest mob boss in the fucking _country_ , no random John Doe could track him down. Someone must have told them.

The three men stayed silent for a few seconds. Less than that was needed for Michael to recognise the police uniform these guys were wearing. And purely because of that, Michael knew that there was literally no way these men figured out his location on their own.

And holy shit, one of the two cops stood against the wall was Geoff fucking Ramsey! That _asshole!_ He was supposed to be leaving Michael be, not tracking him down and setting his dogs on him. That’s it, only two of those cops were getting out of Michael’s flat alive.

“Who told us what?” The hostage blurted out, almost stammering on his words as he spoke. Even in the dim light Michael could see that this guy was easily the tallest and biggest of the three; he had glasses and a bushy beard and Michael was glad he’d taken this one as a hostage. He looked to be the strongest of the three.

“Who told you where I live?” Michael deadpanned, voice steady and as menacing as he could muster. Which meant that if he was living up to his normal standards, these cops should be shaking in their boots right about now, and those men certainly didn’t disappoint.

The unarmed cop Michael didn’t know the name of shifted against the wall and spoke up. “What makes you think we didn’t figure it out on our own?” He snarked, his tone of voice too sassy for Michael’s liking.

And Michael wasn’t fond of people doing things he didn’t like. They could ask the last person who did something Michael didn’t like just how much Michael hated it. Caleb would probably be happy to tell them about it… Well, that’s if they could actually find and dig up each piece of him. Michael was simply happy that the bastard wasn’t going to cheat Michael out of his money in poker by card-looking ever again.

So he slid his hand into his hostage’s holster and stole his gun, and tossed it onto the floor. Michael almost laughed when all three cops looked longingly at the discarded weapon, but he didn’t stall as he removed his gun from the taller man’s temple.

He walked smoothly over to the two against the wall and pressed the shining barrel of the gun underneath the sassy cop’s chin. “Don’t bullshit me,” he snarled, lifting his other hand to cock the gun, readying it for fire as he shoved it back against the cop’s chin.

“It was Simon!” The previous hostage blurted out in what was probably a brave attempt to save his friend. Well, in his mind anyway. In Michael’s, it was something different.

“I hate snitches.” Michael said, his upper lip curling in distaste. “Even those who snitch in my favour,” he admitted hollowly, turning around and shooting the tall man between his eyes.

The man’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor, dark blood pooling from his head as he fell backwards into the almost artistic spray of blood that decorated Michael’s carpet. Even a few pieces of brain matter littered the scene before him, adding to the goriness of it all.

“Cops think better with a hole in their head anyway.” Michael said with a smirk, admiring his own handiwork for a few moments. Directly between the eyes, not a millimeter off-centre. Just as usual.

He turned to face the two other cops who were most likely going to be bawling their eyes out or angry to the point they’d willingly attack Michael weaponless.

Sure enough, Michael span around on his heel and he was faced with the light haired cop clenching his fists with tears in his eyes while the darker haired cop trembled with fear and raw emotion.

Michael almost felt sorry for them; he’d just killed their co-worker and friend.

But that was life for you. Life was a bitch. She pretended to be your friend when really she was only planning the death of your best friend, your fiance, and the rest of your crew - yes, one could say that Michael was still bitter about the events of the previous year.

But then life eventually planned your own demise as well. Perhaps this was supposed to be Michael’s, but this was going to go Michael’s way even if it was going to be the end of him - and it probably would be.

Michael now only had one mission; kill Simon.

And these pussies weren’t going to be of any use, they couldn’t even stand up for themselves, let alone keep their friend safe. Their shitty cop skills had resulted in the death of one person already, there was no way Michael was going to force them into

But if that mission went well, then he was going to dispose of these two pathetic excuses for police officers and he was going to put an end to this.

“Now get out.” Michael ordered the two cops, voice dry and head set on his mission.

“ _Fuck!_ ” He cursed loudly once the door had been shut and the two cops had left; now he had a body to dispose of. Oh well, at least it was time for him to move house anyway. He could just pack his shit and leave before dawn, leaving the body for someone else to find.

But if his suspicions were correct, Geoff and his cops were going to be back for him anyway, meaning Michael _needed_ to be out before dawn.

Either way, it was poker night tomorrow night, he could always bribe one of the other notorious gang members he played with to let him sleep on their couch. Ray was usually the one he’d go to for this kind of thing, the others were slightly less willing to have someone as dangerous and unpredictable as Michael in their house for longer than a couple of minutes without supervision.


	3. Chapter 3

“You mean to say that you went after Michael without backup?!” The chief of police exclaimed, smacking his palms down on his desk and standing up to tower over Ryan and Geoff who sat dully in chairs opposite him.

“I’m sorry, alright? It was the first real lead we had and our sources said Michael moved around a lot so we had a limited amount of time to find him.” Geoff informed, his heart heavy and mind far too tired to defend himself any better.

“Not only did you waste police time, but you’ve also gone against direct orders to keep a watch on that Cole boy.” The chief grumbled, frowning disappointedly. “I’m surprised Jack even agreed to letting this happen, he’s normally the responsible one.”

“Sir, Jack’s…” Geoff coughed, voice wavering and heart clenching. He couldn’t do this.

“Jack’s _what_?” The chief demanded angrily, slamming his fist down on the table again, causing Geoff to flinch and Ryan to not even bat an eyelid. Geoff didn’t know how he did it, Ryan was just so calm and collected, though it was clear that he was simply far too emotionally exhausted to even react any longer.

“Jack’s dead.” Ryan stated, voice monotonous and heavy. “Michael shot him.”

“So your lead was successful?” The chief asked, and Geoff had the sudden urge to shoot _him_ for not fucking caring about one of his own police officers. _Especially_ one as loyal and hardworking and great as Jack.

“Fuck you, we know that this was a failure, you don’t have to rub it in.” Geoff snapped, not gracing the chief with eye contact any more as he stared out the window at the orange haze in the early morning sky from the streetlights.

The chief didn’t reply to that, instead he dared to change the subject. “Release Cole immediately, he’s not going to be any use to us if he’s locked up. But let him off with a warning, he’s been useful, perhaps he could do so again.”

Geoff nodded curtly and stood up, while Ryan blinked tiredly and hauled himself out of the chair and to his feet.

After leaving the room, Geoff turned to Ryan. “I don’t fucking trust Simon. Last time I gave a single ounce of trust to a criminal it didn’t end so well… We’re gonna let him go but we’ll send another officer to go undercover and keep an eye on him.”

“Good. Because if you were to ask me why this went to shit, I’d say blame Simon.” Ryan informed, voice hollow.

“Yeah, he was the one who said Michael was off his game. This isn’t on us, Simon was the lying snitch.” Geoff snarled acidically, unable to prevent his mind from going back to Michael’s apartment, the mobster King’s words echoing in Geoff’s head.

_“I hate snitches. Even those who snitch in my favour.”_

Then Jack was dead and Geoff was running for his life away from that building, fist closed tightly in the fabric of Ryan’s jacket. He wasn’t going to let anyone else die for him. And if they did? Geoff was going to _ruin_ whoever had been the one to put the final bullet in their head.

He had been so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t noticed they’d reached the detainment rooms until Ryan was tapping him on the shoulder, trying to break him out of whatever train of thought he’d lost himself on.

“Geoff? You’ve got the keys, right?” Ryan was asking, and sure enough, they were stood in front of Simon’s cell.

“Yeah, just… Gimme a second…” He muttered, rummaging in his pocket for a couple of seconds before jamming the key in the lock and handing the keys over to Ryan. “You can do the honours.” Because the last time Geoff let a criminal go it hadn’t ended well.

And maybe it was silly, giving the keys to Ryan to feel as though he’d also handed over responsibility for any future casualties or deaths. But it didn’t help, all it did was make Geoff feel even worse.

Because as much as he liked to pretend, Jack’s death was on Geoff’s hands, even if he hadn’t been the one to put the bullet through his skull. He’d been the one to let Michael free all those years ago and nothing Geoff did now was going to change that.

Hours passed - Geoff didn’t count them, he was too emotionally exhausted to do anything that took effort - and he finally found himself tossing and turning on his cold mattress, unable to even stay still for longer than a second. He was ridden with guilt and his heart felt like it was shrinking in his chest. Everything ached and even his mind couldn’t calm itself.

Geoff knew this was his fault.

If he hadn’t let Michael off with a warning last time, releasing him under the false suspicion that he was going to be good, Jack would still be alive.

Five years ago, Geoff and a group of cops had managed to detain Michael and keep him on charges of murder, assassination, car theft, anything they could think of, Michael was charged with because he’d probably done it.

But then Michael had proposed an offer Geoff struggled to say no to.

“If you let me go, I’ll be a mole for you.” Michael muttered into Geoff’s ear just before Geoff was due to leave him for the night.

“Why would I want you as a mole? You’re a filthy fuckin’ scumbag, we don’t need you.” Geoff snarled, glaring down his nose at the notorious criminal he was responsible for the capture of.

But if Michael Jones was anything, he was persistent. That man liked to get what he wanted. “You could be the first on the scene when a gang is planning a heist, or a robbery, or an assassination, or a massacre. You could get like, a fuckin’ medal or whatever shit they give goody-two-shoes cops these days.”

Geoff hesitated. This could be incredibly useful for him. He could keep _the_ _Michael Jones_ on a leash all while technically having control over every major and minor crew in the city. But on the other hand, he would be working with a criminal and there was every chance Michael could double-cross him.

“I’ll even fight for you.” Michael added, doing a very good job at reasoning with Geoff, especially considering the fact that he’s the one in handcuffs here.

Geoff curtly nodded, pulling out the keys from his pocket and gesturing with a hand for Michael to turn around with his back to Geoff.

“You promise you’ll be good?” Geoff asked hopefully. Having a mole in the gangster society - especially one considered the mobster King by a lot of people - would hopefully prove to be very useful. Perhaps he could help Geoff take down some of the other notorious gangster criminals like Michael “Burnie” Burns, Kathleen Zuelch, Joel Heyman, Gus Sorola, Matt Hullum, the list was almost endless.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Michael answered calmly, but there was something off in his voice. If Geoff knew any better back then, he would have said that it sounded like Michael was smirking with the simple knowledge that he wasn’t going to do a single thing Geoff said.

But that was back then when Geoff was stupid enough to trust a criminal.

Now, one of Geoff’s best friends was dead and it was all his fault. He wasn’t going to let Michael go this time, he was going to find him and wasn’t going to leave until he had a hole in his head.

This wasn’t a simple feud between cops and criminals, this was Michael’s way of waging war against Geoff.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, the chapters are gonna be quite a bit longer ^.^  
> <3 Katrina

Saturday, Michael’s favourite day of the week. It was poker night, meaning he got to catch up with some of the other gangsters and criminals in the area. But first, he had to take out the trash.

He had been waiting for not even an hour before the man Michael was looking for limped out of the police station. Michael deftly slipped down an alleyway and hid in the shadows for a few seconds before reaching out and snatching the black haired bastard by the scruff of his neck.

“The fuck’re you doin’?!” He demanded, voice squeaking pathetically.

Michael said nothing as he grabbed Simon’s fractured arm, pinning his wrist at the small of his back and using the leverage on Simon’s neck to shove him face-first against the dirty brick wall.

Simon squirmed and writhed against Michael’s hold, but that idiot always was a weakling. Michael let him win in numerous practice fights just to put him under the illusion that he was strong and powerful.

“M-Michael, what’s going on?” Simon spluttered, struggling to speak from where the left side of his face was pressed forcefully against the wall. “Lemme go!”

But Michael just pressed Simon’s face into the wall harder, knowing that he would be pressing on the boy’s broken cheekbone because he was the one who put them there.

Simon whimpered once more and something in Michael’s mind snapped.

“You try to come back to me, you practically _beg_ for a place in my new crew which I only need _because of you_ , then you rat me out to the cops!! You think I’m gonna have mercy on you, bitch? Well you’ve got another thing coming.” Michael growled into Simon’s ear, keeping him immobile and pressed painfully against the rough cold brick of the wall of the alleyway.

“I d- I didn’t… _Aah!_ ” Simon tried to speak, but was stopped when Michael brought his head a couple of inches away from the wall only to slam it back with a sickening crack.

“Don’t try to bullshit me.” Michael warned darkly. “You got upset because I thought you were a piss-poor addition to my crew so you thought you’d get revenge by breaking into my house and killing Lindsay and Kerry.”

“Michael, I don’t know who killed them, I swear!” Simon insisted, his voice pleading as he sobbed pathetically against the wall.

“I’ve said _so many times_ that I don’t like snitches.” Michael said exasperatedly, tightening his iron grip on Simon’s wrist and the back of his neck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re on about, Michael.” Simon repeated with another whimper.

“You always were a shitty liar, Simon.” Michael spat, evidently disgusted at Simon. “I only kept you around because it was fun to play games with you; like setting you up on a heist that the police knew about, or conveniently forgetting to give you gloves when you dispose of a body.”

Simon was now shaking with fear and pain under Michael’s forceful grip.

“But now you’ve stepped over a line.” Michael informed. “I’m sick of you.” He added darkly before throwing Simon to the floor and landing a couple of solid kicks to Simon’s already bruised and broken torso. Michael’s grin grew every time he heard the tell-tale crack of a rib breaking, or another bone giving way underneath the brute force of Michael’s steel-toed boots.

Simon originally tried to squirm away, but found that too tiring and too much effort. He always did give in when he crossed the first obstacle.

But the second obstacle Michael was about to throw his way? Simon had no way of escaping it.

After kicking Simon to a bloody and sobbing mess, Michael planted one foot on Simon’s chest, causing the boy to wheeze and choke as he fought for oxygen.

“But if there’s one thing I hate more than snitches,” Michael mused aloud, pulling his gun from his holster and taking the safety off. “It’s you.” Michael snarled, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet tearing through the centre of Simon’s forehead.

Michael expertly hauled Simon up and over Michael’s shoulder before lifting the lid of the dumpster that sat a few meters away in the alley, and dropping Simon’s lifeless body into it.

Now that the trash was disposed of, Michael could happily relax for the rest of the day until he had to leave for poker night.

* * *

 

After being greeted with the news that Simon’s beaten and lifeless body had been found during lunch, Geoff immediately got to work.

He was going to find everyone who worked with Michael - be they acquaintance or right-hand-man - and he was going to track them down, ready to do anything to cut Michael off and render him useless.

Geoff was done playing around.

One of his best friends was dead, he had every _right_ to want to destroy Michael Jones and everything that ever mattered to him.

So after an afternoon of successful researching, Geoff had found a list of six people Michael willingly interacted with on a weekly basis; his ‘poker buddies’ (Geoff knew that more than cards were being dealt at that meeting, like information and contacts and other useful things).

One of the men at the top of the list was a young man who used to be better friends with Michael when he still lived in New Jersey, but from what Geoff knew, they were still close. Typically going by his alias ‘BrownMan’, Ray Narvaez Jr was one of the best snipers and all-around criminals in Austin. So Geoff grabbed his file and headed out alone to the bar where Michael typically held his poker nights.

His plan was to wait until Ray had left the building and follow him back to where he lived and threaten him. No, Geoff wasn’t going to kill him. He’d never deprive someone of one of their best friends, he wasn’t an animal for Christ’s sake! He had morals and rules he lived by, all whilst abiding by the law as well. Geoff couldn’t say it was easy, but he had reached the point where he didn’t care about the law.

Jack was dead, and he was the one to keep Geoff and Ryan in check when they swayed towards the edge of truancy. He kept Geoff sane even in the most anger-inducing and frustrating of cases.

And when Jack died, so did a little piece of Geoff.

* * *

 

The bar was dingy and dank, not even tourists would visit this place for fear of getting mugged or killed. It sold piss-poor beer and only had one back room with a single round table and a set of chairs. The bartender had a gold tooth, a receding hairline and a scar down his face that no one - not even Michael - dared to ask about.

All in all, it was the shittiest place in Austin.

That’s why it was so perfect for Michael’s poker nights with his ‘friends’ - air quotes used because he hated pretty much everyone in that room spare for about two people. He only hung out with them to maintain his status as the King of crime in Texas.

It was the sketchiest place in town but it had no criminal record, pretty odd for a place in downtown Austin but Michael couldn’t care less while the police still avoided the general area like the plague. It was the least likely place for six of Austin’s most notorious criminals to convene, so it was even more perfect for Michael.

The stench of tobacco and stale beer was something Michael would never get used to, though.

As he took his usual seat between Ray and Kathleen, he found himself grateful for the air freshener Burnie had pinned above the doorway with a dart a few months back.

Michael found himself slipping back into conversation almost as if the incident with Simon and Jack (Michael had only found out his name after the papers published a short article to commemorate him) had never happened.

But Joel was known for his big mouth, and Matt was more than happy to chip in and fill in the details Michael hadn’t spilled on; how he knew those things, Michael would never know (but he knew better than to question Matt’s spying skills).

Michael had originally tried to brush off the subject with his typical dry humour by commenting on how Simon hadn’t even _tried_ to escape or how Jack had tried to act so heroic to save the other cops’ lives but he’d just ended up with a hole in his head.

Things had been going well and Michael had been successful in explaining himself and his ideas about what to do with Geoff and the other cop’s dead bodies until Burnie spoke up.

“Why should we listen to you?” He had asked, a small furrow in his brow giving away to Michael that he genuinely thought he was raising a valuable point. “We know you’re all buddy-buddy with the cops, who says you aren’t a snitch?”

Michael stayed silent for the longest ten seconds anyone in that small, soundproofed room had ever experienced. And when he finally spoke, it was quiet and slow yet the venom could almost be tasted from how acidic his tone was. “Who else agrees with Burns?”

Being the second biggest and most infamous criminal in the room, three of the five other gang members in the room raised their hands.

The two that didn’t stayed silent and gave the three traitors a disapproving and disgusted look.

 _Good_. Michael wanted to snarl. _Nobody calls me a snitch_.

Michael fucking _hated_ snitches.

“Stand up.” He ordered calmly, a dark glint in his eyes as he watched Burnie, Kathleen, Joel and Matt all stand up nervously while Gavin and Ray stayed seated, smug grins on their faces as they watched.

“Look, Michael. I didn’t mean-” Burnie began in a flustered attempt to prevent what he knew was only going to end badly for him and the others.

“Stop talking and stand against the wall.” Michael demanded, interrupting Burnie’s blabbering by pulling out his handgun from an inside jacket pocket and aiming it steadily at the center of Burnie’s head; right above the bridge of his glasses but just below the neat curls of his hair.

At first it was only Burnie who complied, then when the others noticed the seriousness in Michael’s voice. He was calm, scarily so, and Michael knew that no amount of threatening he could do would even cause any of the people in this room to _flinch_ , let alone find it frightening. He had to use his calmest and most collected attitude in order to strike fear into the very souls of these people.

When the four of them had lined up, Michael took a last look at each and every one of them, considering how much he would lose if he were to shoot them right then and there for even _suggesting_ that Michael may be the one thing he despises so much.

Kathleen was an expert on explosives - but so was Gavin - and had records on practically every criminal to ever walk on American soul - but Ray could get access to that with his hacking skills.

Matt was one of the best gunmen Michael had worked with - but anyone could get that kind of knowledge on guns and other weapons if they read some books and online wiki-pages; and

Burnie was Michael’s go-to man when he needed a driver or pilot for a getaway vehicle, but Michael liked to believe that he himself was the true expert at escaping a crime scene with _all_ of the cash and _all_ of his crew members (Burnie had lost a few members along the way, and Michael had actually been quite annoyed when he heard of Barbara’s death due to Burnie’s poor choice of getaway vehicle - she had actually been a valuable asset to Michael’s team).

Joel was great with screwing everyone around; his favoured method of pulling of a successful heist was to create such elaborate plans that only he himself would be able to understand how they actually managed to keep the cops away. He was good, but Gavin was better - combine confusion with explosives and you had a recipe for a successful heist and numerous pissed off cops.

The answer was no, Michael wasn’t going to be missing out on much if he killed these four people.

After cocking the gun and readying it smoothly, he aimed at Burnie’s head and pulled the trigger.

Michael watched indifferently as he fell to the floor.

Matt almost stepped away from the wall to rush to Burnie’s side, Kathleen kept a cold, hard glare, while Joel smirked at Michael as if to dare him to shoot him.

So Michael took a step to the right and shot Joel, then Kathleen, then Matt.

In Michael’s opinion, it didn’t really feel any different to shooting the dumb heroic cop back in Michael’s old apartment.

The red shine of fresh blood splattered all along the wall while four dead bodies littered the floor; Michael felt proud. Those assholes thought he was a snitch, they _deserved_ what they’d got. In fact, all things considered, Michael had let them off rather lightly.

Calmly, he turned to the two only smart people in the room - well, there was no doubt that they were _now_ , seeing how they were the only two people left alive after Michael’s release of anger.

“I fucking hate snitches.” He repeated with an irritated snarl at the lifeless bodies of those who thought he was one. Ray and Gavin nodded in agreement. “Are either of you snitches?”

“No.” Ray answered, voice almost as steady as Michael’s as he shook his head.

“Never.” Informed Gavin, furiously shaking his head as if he was mortified by the very _thought_ of being a dirty and good-for-nothing snitch.

“Good.” Michael said, nodding curtly once in approval and smirking when he saw how both Ray and Gavin seemed to relax at that. “Then follow me.” He walked quickly out of the room, stepping over the lifeless body of Burnie as if he was nothing more than an annoying puddle of rainwater in Michael’s way.

Gavin scrambled to get to his feet and he followed Michael almost clumsily, but Michael knew better than to believe that facade of his and overlook his abilities; he was one of the smartest men Michael knew and alongside Ray, he could _easily_ make up for missing members.

Meanwhile, Ray got up from his chair and shrugged on his jacket, following Michael as he had done countless times before in New Jersey. If Michael could trust anyone, it would be Ray. The two of them had history; Michael would leave it at that.


	5. Chapter 5

It was well past midnight when Michael finally emerged from the dirtiest bar in Austin, only two people alongside him instead of what Geoff _knew_ to be an original group of six.

Before they saw him, Geoff slipped into the alleyway he had been stood near and pressed himself flat against the wall, the casefile on Ray tucked neatly in his jacket. He wasn’t going to risk getting caught, no one in the PD had _ever_ been this close to spying on criminals without having a gun pointed at them.

As the three of them talked, the taller of the three - a young man with dusty blonde hair and a devilish smirk - simply said “cheers mate” in a strong British accent, taking the slip of paper after Michael wrote down something on it. And by the hand gesture he made before hopping on his motorcycle and whizzing away on it, Geoff would probably be right in assuming it was Michael’s phone number.

But before the Brit was completely out of sight, Geoff made a mental note of the Sanchez’s number plate.

That left only Michael and the Puerto Rican Geoff knew to be Ray stood outside the bar.

Geoff didn’t even dare to breathe for fear of getting caught. Because from where he stood in the alleyway, he could actually hear the conversation the two were having.

“I’ll scope the area out for you, make sure no cops are around, _then_ I’ll head for your place, alright?” Ray informed, a friendly smile in his voice as he started the engine of his motorcycle.

“Good, I’m sick of them tailing me like dogs and I can’t risk them finding the new place.” Michael answered, causing Geoff to smirk at the pleasant feeling he was basking in. Oh if only Michael knew.

“Right, I’ma head off and take the long route back so I’ll be there in like, fifteen minutes tops…” Ray paused for a few seconds before speaking again. “And you’ll be there in forty?”

Michael must have nodded his agreement, because Ray said “good” before there was another silence in which Geoff assumed Ray must have been readying his bike.

“But dude, what’re you gonna do if you run into any trouble?” Michael asked, an almost concerned tone to his voice. “You drive a fuckin’ Faggio, you can’t commit crime on a Faggio!” Michael teased jokingly.

“Watch me!” Ray exclaimed, revving his engine loudly and spinning the rear wheel before taking off down the street. Geoff was grateful for his position because it allowed him to see that Ray had sped down the wrong lane of the street.

It was a pretty shitty bike compared to the gleaming black Sanchez that Gavin rode, but Geoff couldn’t stop himself from thinking that Ray was right; he certainly could commit a crime on a Faggio.

But after a few moments of waiting, he finally heard the the distinctive sound of Michael getting into his car and driving down the street using the correct lane - much unlike Ray had - so Geoff quickly sprinted down the street one block before reaching where he had parked his own car. This one was his, not one of the unmarked (or marked, for that matter) police cars the station provided.

He had been taken off the case so he had no way to use the police cars.

According to the chief, the case had become _‘too personal since Jack’s death’_ and Geoff was _‘blurring the lines between what was right and wrong’_. Geoff thought the chief of police was full of shit so he had taken matters into his own hands.

Luckily he hadn’t been suspended so he still had use of his badge and his gun, and he still had his job as an officer.

After seeing how colloquial things had been between Michael and Ray, Geoff had a small niggling in the back of his mind that was telling him what to do.

Usually Geoff would ignore this tiny voice, mostly because Jack would be there to stop him.

But Jack was gone.

So Geoff drove carefully, keeping track of Ray whilst ensuring he wasn’t caught tailing the man’s Faggio as he checked out the area before driving to Michael’s new apartment. And when Ray unlocked the door with his own keys, Geoff chose to quickly scale the fire escape.

The lights turning on in one of the apartment windows gave away which one Ray was in.

Geoff grinned at his luck and in disbelief when he pulled at the window and found that it wasn’t locked. He cast his gaze around the room - definitely a hallway in the upstairs area of Michael’s apartment - before climbing in silently through the window.

Police training taught Geoff how to break into houses, but his own gut instinct told him to skip over some of the legal parts, leaving what he was doing to be completely illegal and without excuse.

But Geoff had an excuse, he thought to himself as he crept down the stairs, it was revenge.

Ray, as it turned out, wasn’t cleaning his weaponry or pinning pieces of string to maps, but was instead found lazing on the couch playing some sort of video game with his back to the door.

The remote was on the arm of the sofa just behind Ray’s head and Geoff simply couldn’t resist the urge to grab it and turn the TV off.

Ray jumped at the suddenness of it, and scrambled as he tried to grab for the gun that he had left on the coffee table. In his haste, he ended up on his knees and the gun ended up on the floor, so Geoff kicked it out of Ray’s reach and pointed his own gun at the young criminal.

Instead of fighting or shouting, Ray fell onto his backside and shuffled quickly away from Geoff until his back hit a kitchen cabinet in the open-floor apartment.

The boy was clever, proving this to Geoff when he reached up and whipped out a long kitchen knife from the sink to point it at Geoff in his defence.

Geoff almost laughed at the pitiful sight.

“You really are a rookie, aren’t you?” Geoff snarked, fighting against chuckling at the scene before him.

For the briefest of seconds, Geoff’s mind snapped. He realised that if Jack were here, Ray would have been in cuffs five minutes ago and no one would have even touched a gun. Maybe the chief was right, maybe Geoff had gotten in too deep.

But Geoff didn’t care.

And to show that, he shot Ray in the gut and gave a satisfied smirk when the young criminal yelped at the instant pain.

Geoff had the upper hand here, something he could have used back in Michael’s old apartment.

“Tell Michael I said ‘hi’.” Geoff said with a devilish grin before walking over to the coffee table and pulling out Ray’s casefile, a pen, and a small pad of sticky-notes.

Completely ignoring the wet coughs and splutters from the slowly - but surely - dying Ray, Geoff used the red pen to mark a big ‘X’ over the mugshot of Ray’s face before using a plain black biro to scribble down a note on the small sticky piece of yellow paper.

_“An eye for an eye.  
            The last place Jack was alive. 8pm.”_

Finding that on his coffee table oughta rile Michael up.

And if that didn’t, being the last person to see Ray alive sure would. Geoff knew what he’d done, he was a killer shot - one of Austin Police Department’s best - he was well aware that the bullet wound he’d given Ray would immobilise him and leave him in pain long enough for Michael to have a few last words with him before Ray finally bit the dust.

Speaking of which… “Huh, he should be here right about now.” Geoff informed casually before walking back up the stairs and climbing back out the fire escape.

The second he fell into his car, Geoff could feel that his heart was beating so fast he could barely even feel the pulse. He’d finally gotten Michael back for Jack’s death, and to ensure nothing of the like ever happened again, he was going to put an end once and for all to Michael Jones.


	6. Chapter 6

After unlocking the door and carefully carrying his duffel bag of newly bought ammo through the door, Michael was put off the second he didn’t hear Ray’s typical yelling of obsceneties as he plays a video game.

But when he stopped for a single moment and listened carefully, calling out a loud “Ray? You in here, dude?” He ended up dropping the bag and sprinting down the stairs the second he heard Ray’s struggling voice and soft wheezes for Michael’s help.

His mind was on overdrive; if Ray was hurt, there was only one _motherfucker_ who could have and would have done this.

Geoff was going to die.

He knew that the second he saw Ray slumped against the kitchen side, a knife raised with one weak arm while the other gripped at his side that was pooling blood on the floor faster than Michael would have liked.

“Fuck, Ray.” Michael muttered softly, dropping to his knees beside Ray at the same time Ray dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor as he brought that hand to press at his bullet wound too.

Instead of wasting time with a first aid kit, Michael tore of his own jacket and pressed it firmly against Ray’s side, forcing the younger of the two to remove his blood-coated hands and keep his attention on Michael.

“Who did this to you?” Michael demanded, eyes somewhat in need of a desperate rubbing as he listened to Ray’s weak breathing.

But then the injured man smiled, almost sickeningly so, and said “Geoff says hello.”

“That son of a bitch.” Michael spat irately. “I should’a killed him a long time ago… It’s gonna be okay, though… You’re gonna be okay.”

“Michael.” Ray mumbled softly, letting himself slide into the welcoming arms offered by Michael. “‘m not gonna make it… Sorry Michael.”

Tentatively, and with a sick feeling in his stomach, Michael lifted the jacket to take a quick look at Ray’s wound.

“No.” Michael muttered hollowly. Because he knew Ray was right. So he did the only thing he could; nudge gently for Ray to rest his head on Michael’s shoulder as he knelt on the floor with the bleeding and suffering Ray in his arms.

“Michael, bro, do me one solid…?” Ray asked, a hint of that mischievous glint in his eyes.

Of course Ray was about to set Michael up for one last laugh. While protecting and comforting Ray was the only thing Michael could do, Ray could only make him smile.

“Anything, dude.” Michael said honestly; and that wasn’t something he would say to just anyone.

“Delete my internet history? Don’t look at it, just delete it…” Ray muttered, straining just to get the very words out before he continued to breathe heavily.

Michael found himself laughing softly, pressing his face into Ray’s hair to mask the fact that a few tears had definitely just fallen from his betraying eyes.

Then Ray coughed worryingly and began to choke and wretch as he struggled with the pain and blood loss; Michael couldn’t stand to let him suffer through this. Ray would barely last another five minutes, but even that was too much.

Michael couldn’t stand to see Ray in pain for any longer than necessary, so he reached for the gun in his pocket. That gun had seen a lot of death lately, but this one would certainly be the only one that mattered to Michael. He doubted he’d ever be able to use the weapon again after this.

Pulling the gun out of his pocket and resting the barrel weakly against Ray’s forehead, the raven-haired man tilted his head to give Michael better access.

After taking one steadying breath and gripping the gun that suddenly felt heavy in his hands, he squeezed the trigger and choked on his own sob when Ray finally stilled.

Michael was shaking. He could only feel anger and regret and a giant overwhelming wave of sadness that crashed over him, leaving him alone for the first time since Lindsay and Kerry’s deaths.

Carefully laying Ray down on the kitchen floor, Michael took a sheet and covered him with it. He looked peaceful, but he finally looked his age and Michael couldn’t _stand_ the fact that Ray wasn’t going to age a single day more. Being in Michael’s crew should have guaranteed his safety, but all it did was bring him to his death.

Then Michael felt the pure unadulterated _rage_ towards Geoff - the reason Ray was dead - build up inside of him and he lost it.

Storming over to the closet, Michael snatched up his metal baseball bat and hit the coffee table with all his might, yelling out curses furiously, causing the glass to shatter upon impact with the solid metal and the things that were on it fell to the floor. Michael didn’t fucking _care_. He continued to hit things, even creating an impressive crater in the closet door, before he went back to the living room and utterly destroyed the wooden remnants of the coffee table.

Only then did he notice the brown file that had been cast to the floor during Michael’s rampage.

He forced himself to breathe calmly for a few moments before picking up the file.

But he only had to see the red ‘X’ over the image on the front of the casefile to recognise whose it was. Tearing off the sticky note angrily, Michael gritted his teeth in annoyance as he read it.

Two things were for sure, Michael realised.

One; Michael had never been more _furious_ in his life, the rage fuelling his anger like coal on a fire as he grabbed his trusty AK-47, swapping his pistol for a spare, and walking out of his apartment with determined strides and a gun in his hands.

Two; Geoff Ramsey was dead meat.


	7. Chapter 7

Originally, Michael’s plan had been to hunt Geoff down and slaughter him like the rabid animal he was.

But then he realised that he was acting on impulse, only wanting to do this because he felt he had an innate _need_ to avenge Ray.

And he knew that Ray wouldn’t have wanted him to go into a mission with a clouded mind, so Michael headed straight for the nearest shooting range and practiced with an array of weaponry to clear and calm his mind.

Michael always found shooting to be soothing; the rhythmic action of it almost like a ritual as he shot down target after target, reloading, then shooting at the targets again.

He had never been more grateful for the local Ammu-Nation range being 24/7 - and the fact that Michael was close friends with the store owner, Kdin, helped him immensely here. Michael spent the rest of the morning shooting and reloading, only taking a break when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“Michael?” Gavin’s voice was slightly crackly over the line, but Michael would make do.

“Hey Gavin.” Michael answered, his chest suddenly feeling hollow again when he realised what he was about to have to tell Gavin.

“What’s wrong?” The Brit asked, showing off his skill to cut the small talk whilst immediately understanding that something was wrong. That was one of the things Michael admired about him.

Michael sighed, still unwilling to even think it, let alone say it out loud.

“R…” No, he couldn’t do it.

“Michael, just tell me what the hell’s up.” Gavin demanded, the weight of seriousness to his voice giving away how concerned he was. Gavin was never serious unless something was genuinely wrong. He must have a sixth sense or something. “I’ll head down to the range and beat it out of you myself if I have to.”

The threat was an empty one, Michael knew that for sure, but it still got to him.

“Ray’s fucking _dead_ , okay?! Geoff broke into the flat, shot him, and now he wants to meet me at my old place. _Are you fucking happy now, asshole?!_ ” Michael screeched down the phone, eyes beginning to betray him again as they prickled with tears. He panted for breath after his outburst and settled for breathing heavily in anger instead.

Gavin didn’t say anything for a whole minute, and if Michael didn’t hear the ashamed sniffling and the muffled cough from the other end of the line, he would have assumed that Gavin had hung up.

“So, are you gonna help me tear Geoff apart limb from limb or do I have to do it alone?” Michael asked, laying out his proposition on the table for Gavin to take or leave as he pleased. Lucky for Michael, he knew Gavin would never back down from a perfect opportunity to annihilate the motherfucker who killed Ray.

“I’d do anything to get revenge.” Gavin stated, voice never clearer as he gave Michael his answer.

“Meet me at my old place at 8, but whatever you do, don’t come find me before, okay?” Michael said warningly. He was an emotional mess. Not only would it be embarrassing for anyone to see him like this, he was also likely to lash out with the potential to unwillingly hurt Gavin. And Michael couldn’t let anyone else get hurt, not after Ray.

“You’ve got my word, Michael.” Gavin informed, a scarily calm tone to his voice that had Michael kind of wishing he could be there to give Gavin the comfort he so obviously needed after the news of Ray’s death.

“Alright, see you at 8.” Michael said quickly before ending the call and tossing the phone aside, picking up a sub-machine gun and forcing himself to relax by shooting down every single target with the image of Geoff’s smug grin mentally painted on it.

Hours flew by, leaving Michael actually fairly calm when he finally thanked Kdin for letting him use the range. But when Michael got in his car, leaving his AK-47 on the passenger seat, he felt the familiar buzz of adrenalin shoot through his veins. He felt that buzz every time he began a mission, and boy did it feel good to have something of his old self back.

Michael made the smart decision to park his car a block and a half away, walking the rest of the distance on foot and armed with his gun. He became the victim of numerous odd stares and terrified looks from pedestrians, but Michael simply smirked back at them and carried on walking.

Michael thought he was going to be okay. He thought he was going to arrive, shoot Geoff, and leave a happier man. He didn’t think seeing Geoff’s face would make the rage build up inside his chest, but it did.

His eyes narrowed as he aimed his gun before letting out a headache-inducing roar of _“GEOFF YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!!!_ ”

Geoff, still stood the distance of a few parked cars away, was alert enough to duck behind one of said parked cars to avoid the spray of bullets from Michael’s AK-47.

Even without the idiot cop in sight Michael continued to fire his gun, mind reeling as the bullets made contact with walls, cars, windshields and windows, but not with Geoff.

Michael knew he probably should calm his shit instead of running forwards and firing his gun, but it didn’t stop him from doing just that.

He didn’t care if he only _grazed_ Geoff, that man was going to die.

Preferably horribly and painfully, but Michael would settle for a single bullet through his head if it meant Geoff would no longer taint this planet with his existence.

In the reflection of a car window, Michael saw Geoff mutter something into his radio and vaguely heard something about backup over the deafening fire of his gun. But the firing of a SMG from a couple of meters behind Michael had him taking the perfect opportunity to reload his own gun.

Gavin had arrived.

“He’s already fucking called for backup, Gavin!” Michael yelled, keeping Gavin up to date with the only thing he’d heard since the beginning of this disaster.

And at the same time Gavin arrived, Geoff pulled out his own gun - his police-standard pistol pathetic compared to the impressive less-than-legally-acquired guns that currently rained bullets down on the streets - and began to shoot with slightly more precision than Michael and Gavin.

Michael recognised the blood spray from a bullet that skimmed Geoff’s shoulder, but his mind was focussed elsewhere when he heard a pained shout of “ouch bollocking _BITCH!!_ ”

A quick glance behind himself gave Michael the relief that Gavin had only been shot in the leg, and was still actually shooting his SMG carefully before limping and ducking into an alleyway.

Gavin would be fine, he’d had worse. And Michael was genuinely relieved to see him okay; he’d already lost one person who mattered to him, he couldn’t afford to lose another. His mental state wouldn’t take another trauma.

Now Michael’s attention could be fully focussed on Geoff.

* * *

 

The bullet tearing through the top of his thigh had Gavin stumbling, nearly losing his footing and falling to the floor in a heap. But instead of giving in to the pain, he fought through it and continued to shoot his sub-machine gun in the general direction of Geoff as he half-limped half-crawled into an alleyway.

From there, he ditched his gun and crawled out of the alleyway, carefully staying hidden from Geoff’s view as he made it about a block away before collapsing in another alleyway.

His hands were shaking as he clutched at his thigh, the bullet still embedded in the flesh and the wound still bleeding profusely. It wouldn’t kill him, but it was going to leave him with a severe limp for a while to come unless he got to a hospital within the next few minutes - which he wasn’t going to do.

The flashing and wailing of police sirens had Gavin sitting up, alert.

And when a police officer ran past the alleyway, hand on the holster for his gun, he did a double-take before backtracking and crouching next to Gavin.

Of course a police officer would be the one to forget about a firefight and help a bleeding and injured stranger in an alleyway.

And of course it was Geoff’s other partner, Ryan. Well, he was Geoff’s _only_ partner now, thanks to Michael. Thanks to the shoddy firewalls and security on police files and computer systems, Gavin had managed to hack in and read up everything there was to know about Geoff Ramsey.

Apparently Ryan Haywood was one of those many things that mattered to Geoff.

“Are you okay, man? What happened?” Ryan asked, placing his own hand over Gavin’s in an attempt to stem the bleeding. He didn’t know that Gavin was with Michael, this was _perfect!_

“I-I’m not sure…” Gavin muttered, always glad to show off his acting skills. “One minute I was walking and the next I was down here…” He trailed off, wincing when Ryan pressed down a little harder on his leg.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be okay.” Ryan said reassuringly, a comforting and friendly smile on his face as he spoke softly to Gavin. Gavin wanted to laugh at him; Michael was right, cops really could think better with a hole in their head. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital as soon as possible.”

Ryan’s expression suddenly turned concerned when Gavin took a shuddering breath and slipped from the wall, instead leaning his weight half on Ryan to make a show of how weak and afraid Gavin supposedly felt. Gavin removed his left hand from his injury - Ryan letting him do so - and rested his hand on Ryan’s thigh, gripping weakly onto the fabric of his standard police uniform trousers.

In Ryan’s mind it must have been some sort of reach for comfort, but Gavin was only ensuring he was just that much closer to Ryan’s gun.

“Have you… Have you called an ambulance?” Gavin asked, feigning a terrified tone and a stammer for effect.

“Yes, one’s on its way right now.” Ryan sounded confident, and that was exactly how Gavin wanted him to feel.

“Good,” Gavin muttered, a sneaky smile tugging at his lips. “Because you’re gonna need one.”

He then pulled Ryan’s gun out of its holster and rammed the barrel of the gun underneath Ryan’s chin before pulling the trigger and shoving Ryan’s lifeless body to the ground.

Gavin smirked, making a mental note to tell Michael how he was right about cops literally being the stupidest things on the planet. He winced when his leg gave another agonising twinge, but he forced himself to stand up and lean against the wall for support.

He was about to walk away, the satisfied grin never leaving his face, when he had another ingenius idea.

Snatching up Ryan’s walkie-talkie, Gavin pressed the button to broadcast his voice and announced in his best radio voice a demeaning “officer down.”

Before leaving the area and hobbling another block or so away to avoid further injury or conviction for the various crimes he was wanted for, he dropped the walkie talkie onto Ryan’s chest carelessly and limped away from the area.


	8. Chapter 8

Two hours later, Geoff was found in the chief of police’s office, sat on a chair and feigning calm fury instead of letting on that his shoulder still hurt; the bullet had barely grazed him, he would be fine, but it still stung.

Meanwhile, the chief was slamming his fists on the desk and yelling at Geoff in anger.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, going in there without backup _after I explicitly told you to leave the case alone!?_ ” His round face had gone red with rage and he was snarling down at Geoff who sat opposite the table. The chief took a deep breath before continuing, a little bit calmer this time. “I took you off this case for a reason, and you went against that order. First Pattillo and now Haywood, I can’t let this happen again… Sorry Ramsey, but you need to hand over your badge and gun.”

“What d’you mean _‘now Haywood’_?! Ryan wasn’t even _there_!” Geoff snapped, clenching his fists in order to refrain from punching the asshole.

“Geoff, you radioed for assistance, Ryan was the first one to answer.” The chief explained, still snarling irritably. “But he never made it to you. About twenty minutes after he left we heard ‘officer down’ on the radio so we sent more backup but when we arrived, nobody was injured and Ryan was dead.”

A painful clenching around Geoff’s heart left him almost unable to breath. The chief must be fucking with him because Ryan wasn’t stupid, he would have been careful and clever. There must have been some god-awful mistake, but the solemn look on the chief’s dull face told him otherwise.

“Who said ‘officer down’ if Ryan was the only one there?” Geoff asked, trying to find at least _one_ loophole here, it’s exactly what Ryan would have done.

“We haven’t identified the voice yet, it sounded like a young British guy, perhaps in his mid-twenties.” The chief informed, turning to his computer.

A young British guy in his mid-twenties? Geoff already had an idea of who this asshole could be.

“Play the fucking clip.” Geoff snapped, voice cracking ever so slightly but his stern expression even had the chief obeying him for once.

When the clip was played, Geoff heard the distinct noise of gunfire in the background, then, just as the chief had described, a voice Geoff _definitely_ recognised sneered “officer down” into Ryan’s walkie talkie.

“Mother _fucker!!_ ” Geoff exclaimed, pulling out his gun and badge, slamming them down on the chief’s desk loudly before storming out.

That snarky British voice belonged to Gavin, Michael’s other partner in crime.

Ray was dead, that Geoff was sure of; he was only dead because Michael had taken Jack from him.

And now Ryan was dead, so of course Gavin had to die. It was only logical, right?

At least that’s what Geoff told himself as he stole Officer Gibson’s gun on the way out of the department, it wouldn’t hurt him to be prepared. Geoff wasn’t like Michael, he didn’t have an array of weaponry at his fingertips and besides, it wasn’t like Blaine would notice his gun was missing until JJ points it out to him later.

So Geoff continued to walk out of the department, knowing that with what he was about to do, the only way he would return would be if he were to be on the other side of the bars to the ones he’s used to.

Geoff felt like his legs were on autopilot, because all he could think of whilst half-jogging down the streets was how many hours Gavin had left; it certainly wasn’t going to be many. That bastard had killed Ryan, he _needed_ to be dead.

And when Geoff finally arrived home, he quickly pulled out his laptop and opened up the police files he thankfully still had access to - so the chief hadn’t gone through with all the movements of removing Geoff from their database of officers yet - and he typed in the number plate he remembered to be the one attached to Gavin’s Sanchez. He was given an address of a tiny house in a fairly quiet but rough area - Geoff’s next destination.

Before Geoff got back in his car, he walked around his house and grabbed some things he could possibly use to help persuade Gavin to give out Michael’s location. He also ended up grabbing a load of rope - though it was fairly old, so Geoff had no idea how well it was going to gold - and shoving that in his bag as well before leaving.

After driving the ten minute drive to Gavin’s neighbourhood, he realised that he didn’t have an actual plan of action.

But that didn’t stop him from walking up to Gavin’s front door with confident strides and knocking firmly on the wood of his door. The paint was peeling slightly, but the entire street was like that; old, run-down, unnoticeable.

The door finally opened and Geoff was greeted with the face of the man he’d seen only once before; and that was just after Michael’s poker night.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” Gavin asked in the exact same voice Geoff had heard on the radio, albeit this tone was cheerier and had no darkness or sadism packed into it.

“Uh…” Geoff froze for half a second, still unsure of what to do, before he drew back his fist and slammed it into the side of Gavin’s head, causing the Brit to collapse to the floor in an unconscious heap.

“Fuck…” Geoff muttered, rubbing his knuckles before grabbing Gavin by the arm and slinging it over his shoulder to haul him off the ground and into the back seat of his car where Geoff firmly tied up Gavin’s arms and legs, just in case he woke up before they arrived at their final destination.

Where that was, Geoff didn’t know. He was awfully unorganised for this, Ryan would laugh at him whilst Jack complained at his atrocious planning skills.

Thinking of Ryan’s death only made Geoff more angry, so he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he drove a couple of miles away from Gavin’s house where he knew there was a nice abandoned warehouse that not even teenage kids explored; the perfect place to torture Gavin until he caved and gave away Michael’s plans and location.

It took a couple more minutes to arrive there, and when he did, Geoff was thankful for the place being a while away from any inhabited houses or buildings. Because he would look suspicious as _fuck_ carrying an unconscious and tied up body across the small parking lot into the building. Even coming back out of the building to grab his duffel bag would look weird; this side of Austin, _anyone_ carrying a duffel bag would immediately be thought of as fishy.

A stray thought crossed Geoff mind as he entered the building again, so instead of continuing through the building to the room he’d left Gavin in, he grabbed a chair and _then_ headed for Gavin.

Tying Gavin up was surprisingly easy, the motherfucker was skinny and light, he barely weighed anything compared to the other people Geoff had fought and tussled with in the past.

Only Ryan had really proved a challenge to Geoff when they practiced their hand-on-hand fighting; he was sneaky and calculative and incredibly strong. Jack was strong too, probably even more so than Ryan, but Geoff had been the one to train Jack so he knew all of his moves.

But now they were dead and Gavin was half to blame.

Geoff paced for a good half an hour before anything happened in that old, abandoned warehouse, and when Ryan’s murderer finally woke up, simply seeing his eyes open made Geoff want to punch him.

So he did; bringing his arm back and slamming his closed fist into Gavin’s face.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Geoff snarled, smirking when Gavin reeled from the punch, lip already split and droplets of blood falling from the wound.

That was _nothing_ compared to what Geoff wanted to do to the guy.

Gavin opened his mouth to speak, but Geoff shut him up with another punch to his face; a crack and a cry of pain from Gavin informed Geoff that he’d probably at least fractured the kid’s jaw (and most likely Geoff’s knuckles as well, but he didn’t give a shit about that).

“HE HAD A WIFE AND TWO KIDS AT HOME!!” Geoff screamed, laying two more punches onto Gavin’s already bleeding and bruised face, successfully sending the chair toppling over sideways.

Gavin was whimpering and choking on the agony, but the sounds he made were closer to wheezes after Geoff kicked him in the chest a few times, certainly breaking a few of Gavin’s ribs and hopefully giving him some serious internal injuries on top of that. When Gavin spluttered, Geoff actually felt kind of proud when he spat out crimson red blood onto the floor.

“Where’s Michael?” Geoff demanded furiously, standing his ground and staring down in disgust at Gavin.

The pathetic excuse for a criminal sniffled and coughed up some more bloody sputum.

So Geoff crouched, grabbing Gavin by the hair and smacking his head down on the hard floor with a brutal force. “I said ‘where’s Michael’, you scrawny British _fuck!_ ”

Gavin opened his mouth and looked like he was about to speak, so Geoff leaned in close to his face, hand still clenched in his hair.

But then Gavin spat in Geoff’s face, sending a gross mixture of blood and saliva over Geoff, who wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt and pulled Blaine’s gun from his pocket, whacking Gavin in the face with it, making sure to do more damage to the pre-existing fractured jaw Gavin was now sporting.

Geoff stood up, face set in a determined snarl as he walked over to the duffel bag he had dropped their earlier; it contained some more rope, a crowbar, various kitchen knives, a pair of pliers, and an angle grinder.

He turned around, but stopped in his tracks when he saw that Gavin had somehow broken free of the rope that tied him to the chair, and he was now lying on the floor, barely managing to keep himself conscious but still keeping Blaine’s gun pointed shakily at Geoff.

Gavin was shivering with pain, blood splattered over his face and all down his shirt, tears streaming down his face and mingling with the mess. He was an emotional mess, that much Geoff could see, so he froze and stared at the boy as he stared right back at Geoff.

Geoff hadn’t planned for this; he was going to torture Gavin until he spilled on Michael’s whereabouts then he was going to kill him. He wasn’t supposed to get free, and he _certainly_ wasn’t supposed to end up with the gun.

The things Geoff was planning to do - and had already done - to Gavin was unforgivable.

And now Gavin had a gun trained on him.

Geoff watched in fear and terror as Gavin closed his eyes, tears continuing to wet his face, before muttering out a weak choked sob of “I’m sorry.”

Gavin then turned the gun around, pressing the barrel underneath his chin and taking a deep breath before pulling the trigger and slumping onto the ground dead, the gun falling from his fingertips and clattering to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

Gavin was dead.

His body had been found by two teenagers after they decided to explore an abandoned building.

He had been beaten almost beyond recognition at first, and according to the blood splatter and the way the body had been positioned, he had shot himself with a police gun. They were currently after none other than Geoff Ramsey, an ex-cop who turned rogue and was wanted for car theft, murder, manslaughter, and a small handful of other offences.

Gavin’s body was unrecognisable at first, but then his dental records showed revealed his identity when it was realised that he had no relations in the country to identify the body.

Michael would have done that.

However, Michael was the King of crime in Austin and was obviously not a relation to Gavin Free. But Michael was his friend- _had been_ his friend.

Lately, Michael’s crown had been feeling heavy.

He only had one thing to do now, because he had nothing else that mattered.

At first, after Kerry and Lindsay’s deaths, Michael thought he could pull himself back together and get on his game again.

And for a few years, he had. He found a group of ‘poker’ friends and had grown close to Ray and Gavin.

This was Simon all over again.

But this time, it was more like chess than unbalanced revenge.

Simon had snitched, causing Geoff to make his move by breaking into Michael’s house.

Michael then made his move and killed Jack.

Geoff’s next move was to force Michael to kill Ray purely out of mercy for his friend.

Gavin killed Ryan on behalf of Michael; so that was his move.

Geoff wasn’t happy with that, so he tortured Gavin and forced him to kill himself.

Now it was Michael’s turn, and he was going to end this once and for all.

So Michael washed his hands after dousing the cloth in the precise mixture of alcohols and leaving the remainder of the concoction in the empty beer bottle, and he drove to the small wooden building Gavin had been found in two days ago.

Michael had only taken so long to take action because he had collapsed for almost an entire day, heart breaking and head spinning too much for his conscious body to take so he had passed out after drinking his entire liquor cabinet.

The hangover was more of a dull ache added to the numb pain he already felt from the deaths of Ray and Gavin, and it didn’t affect his driving or parking abilities so he managed to kill the engine without crashing on the way.

Michael took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting go.

He picked up the carefully constructed molotov in one hand and Ray’s lighter in the other.

Taking strong, meaningful steps forwards, he lit the tail of the molotov and stared at the gentle flicker of the flame as it lapped up the cloth for a few seconds. Then he brought back his arm and threw it with all his might at the wooden doors of the wooden building.

“Take that you son of a bitch!!” Michael yelled furiously to nobody in particular before growling under his breath an irate “checkmate.”

That building was the only place Geoff could be.

A look through Gavin’s computer told him that he’d finally been fired after the stunt he pulled that resulted in Ryan’s death. And because of that, he was also on the run. He was dumb enough to stay in the same place he made his previous move, like it was some sort of sentimental thing.

Flames immediately engulfed the wood, sticking to it like velcro as it charred the wood and caused the brown paint to peel.

But then a noise from behind him had Michael yelping and almost lashing out, armed with nothing more than a lighter as he whipped around and stumbled backwards.

“I’m not in than building you dumb fuck.” Geoff spat, arms crossed over his chest and a cocky expression on his face, almost like he knew what Michael had been through. But he couldn’t. Michael had aimed too high and lost too much. Geoff was a dumb fucking cop, he would _never_ understand.

Michael was about to take Geoff by the collar and beat him until he could hardly walk then leave him in the building for the flames of Michael’s molotov to claim, then he saw the way Geoff was standing there casually and unarmed. He wasn’t even preparing to punch Michael square in the face, which was a first in many many years.

Michael paused, fist clenched and slightly drawn back in defence, unsure of what to do.

Then Geoff spoke, and it was the calmest and most honest Michael had ever heard come out of his mouth. “It’s a shame that this place burned to the ground and took both of us with it.” He said, and Michael wanted to smack that knowing yet serene look off his face, but decided against it again.

“What?” Michael snapped. “I don’t get what you’re saying.” Better to be blunt than angry, Michael thought.

“As far as I understand, two bodies will be found in there tomorrow morning, burnt past recognition with both of our dental records.” Geoff informed, sounding just like he was reciting facts from a news article. Michael didn’t like it. Michael didn’t like not knowing things. But instead of threatening him or forcing him to talk, Michael talked with him.

“But neither of us are in that building.” Michael stated, a confused expression flitting over his features for a couple of seconds before returning to the stoic anger he had before. “And I don’t plan to be in there any time soon, or at all would be nice.”

“No, I don’t plan to die here tonight, and I don’t plan to kill you, either.” Geoff said, uncrossing his arms and staring at Michael who stared right back, ignoring the annoying orange haze the burning building was casting over Geoff. “Let’s just say that I’ve got connections.”

“Why the fuck would you do that for me?” Michael couldn’t help but think Geoff was either high, drunk, or really had lost his mind. But Michael supposed that they both had quite a while ago when Jack and Ryan were taken from him, and when Kerry, Lindsay, Ray and Gavin were taken from Michael.

“I think this has gone far enough.” Geoff informed, a sadness in his eyes that, under the light of the fire and the setting sun, had Michael thinking that maybe he wasn’t a heartless and motiveless and dumb cop like Michael had originally thought. But that was a stupid thought. “We’ve both lost loved ones, and I plan to keep the number of people who die because of me at the number it’s at right now.” That was true; they both had lost loved ones, they were certainly more alike than Michael gave them credit for. “We have to disappear.”

That was also true. Michael couldn’t stay in Austin for one more night. He thought he could walk the streets where the ghosts of Lindsay and Kerry resided and he had been wrong. If he thought he could stay one more second in the place where he had made so many memories - criminal and non (but mostly criminal) - with Ray and Gavin, he would be a liar.

Michael was about to ask why the fuck Geoff would need to disappear, but he supposed the ex-cop had ghosts of his own.

Then an odd thought struck Michael and he couldn’t help but make it heard. Because if he’d listened to Geoff’s voice and his actions and his tone well enough, he very well could be suggesting what Michael thought he was.

“Together?”

“I don’t see why not,” Geoff admitted, and Michael’s gaze softened before they both walked away from the burning building as equals. Geoff made a quick phone call once they reached his stolen car, but not before Geoff muttered the final part to his sentence with a hollow voice and resigned tone. “I mean, who else have we got?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr at [savingprivatesimmons](http://savingprivatesimmons.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
